


Daylight in His Eyes

by evaagna



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: (mostly), Anxiety, Bodhi-Centric, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-01 00:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12144579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evaagna/pseuds/evaagna
Summary: “Bodhi…” he whispers, vaguely terrified that it feels like a question on his own tongue, “My name, it’s Bodhi Rook.”





	Daylight in His Eyes

Something is tapping on his skull.

Insistently.

Only, he can’t decide if it’s tapping on the outside, or the inside. 

But it _hurts_. And the harder he tries to think about it, the worse it gets. It’s a headache looming permanently on his peripheral. In fact, he can’t seem to think clearly about anything. Ideas - specific words, images - are there, but they're scattered and brief. His mind feels like a dark ocean, like he’s wading through deep water after thoughts that float away like indistinct, grey clouds. Or-- that’s not quite right. Maybe he _is_ the water, churning and turning in on himself, constantly moving in no particular direction.

And time doesn’t feel like it really means anything anymore, either. He’s drifting, uninterrupted, through the mist and it feels like it’s always been this way. It might have been days, hours, only minutes-- He’s not sure if he would know, regardless. Thinking about it, even in only the fragmentary bursts that his mind allows, makes his anxiety flair in a way he can’t explain. But-- he has to-- he has to what? All the pieces are right there, tumbling around in his head and popping up in short snatches, none clear enough to mean anything substantial. But time is of the essence. Somehow, he knows this, but can’t remember why.

He becomes aware that something is happening around him - or at least nearby; he still can’t tell the difference. 

Someone...arriving? 

He tries to concentrate on the sounds, but they don’t make sense amidst everything else rushing through his brain. Voices, a commotion, metal against metal-- Metal. That one sound, amongst them all, grabs him and drags him back. A prison cell. The door closing. Bars against his back. A looming creature, a foul smell. Terror, unrestrained and consuming. Long, thick appendages wrapping around his arms, holding him in place, rooting through his thoughts. Bor Gullet. The name escapes him, but the sensation is enough.

He bites into his lip, not hard, and then lets it go again. That’s not now. He’s not there anymore. Or-- is here there? _It’s_ not here, anyway. Of that, he’s certain. It’s only in his mind. _It’s only in my mind, it’s only in my mind._ It becomes a conscious mantra, meant to calm, but instead panic flairs. _It’s_ in _my mind._ How does he get it out? How does he--

Part of him is suddenly pulled to the side. Someone is addressing him - someone with a nice voice, one corner of his mind supplies. It’s a sharp tug, wrenching his attention from where it had begun to nosedive. 

At first he tries to shut it out. Please, just let him drift back into the grey. But the voice doesn’t stop. If anything, it gets more insistent. A pang goes through him - the part of him that led him here in the first place is clanging for his attention, forcibly dragging him, kicking and screaming, from unsteady shadows; this-- this is something important. So he tries to make himself listen, tries to force the voice together in his head and comprehend. He keeps hearing the same word over and over again - _pilot, is he the pilot_?

Something floats across his vision. Pilot. Yes, he’s a pilot. The-- _the_ pilot?

All he can think is that that doesn’t make any sense; his head hurts _so_ much. The pilot? Is he-- But--

Then a name. A familiar name.

Galen? Erso? Yes. _Yes_. A cheer goes up, ringing through the haze, and he imagines himself grinning as if he’s just accomplished something huge. “I brought the message...I’m the pilot,” The words stumble across his tongue, but they’re accompanied by a flood of images, thoughts, memories bursting through his mind, all at once - pieces coming together from what Bor Gullet had shattered. He turns to find the source of the voice. A man, and not a particularly happy looking man. “I’m the pilot,” he insists again, this time more confident of his own words. “I--” He cuts himself off. He what? 

“Good, good,” The man - dark hair, dark eyes - sounds relieved. He’s-- that’s when he realizes that the man is in the cell next to him. They’re both prisoners here; they’re both alone. No-- no, they’re not. He may be alone, but this man is not. There are others; he can hear softer voices coming from behind. But the man leans in closer, fingers curling into the bars separating them, before he has time to dwell on it. “Now, I need to know where to find Galen Erso,”

“Galen…?” He feels himself seize up again. Galen had sent him, yes. Images of the man flash through his mind. Kind, but deceptively intimidating, warm hands, tired eyes. Yes. With the message. For...for Saw? Saw Gerrera. He squeezes his eyes shut, thoughts nearly derailed in panic. From...where had he sent him from? From-- His breaths are coming too fast. Why can’t he get enough oxygen? From-- He can picture the place, but not--

“Hey, hey,” the man interrupts, before he can get lost again. He visibly backtracks, his expression going smooth, calm, encouraging. His voice takes on a coaxing tone. Like he’s had practice with this. Practice helping people? Or practice getting what he wants? He shudders. He can’t tell the difference, and he’s not sure-- But then the man’s warm voice continues, and he clings onto it like it’s the lifeline keeping him from sinking back into the darkness. “Can you tell me your name?”

_My name. Yes, yes, of course! My name is--_ His thoughts freeze. The words are floating right there in his brain, but he can’t quite seem to pull them out. He feels hot tears threatening to spill, accompanied by a sharp stab of shame. What is he doing? He needs to get a handle on himself; he needs to-- It’s right _there_ ; he needs-- He reaches, and reaches, and-- There. It bobs behind his eyes. “Bodhi…” he whispers, vaguely terrified that it feels like a question on his own tongue, “My name, it’s Bodhi Rook,”

A smile inches onto the man’s lips. “Good, perfect, Bodhi-- My name’s Cassian and, look, Bodhi, I need your help, okay?” It sounds as though he’s talking to a child, but Bodhi’s grip is so tenuous that he doesn’t have space to object. “I need you to concentrate, can you do that for me?”

He latches onto the name - his name, the man’s name - and suddenly things feel clearer. 

_Concentrate?_ He’s not sure he’s actually capable of what this man - Cassian - is asking of him, but he nods. He knows this is important. That’s-- that’s why he’s here. That’s why he risked-- _everything_. That’s why he brought the message.

“Good,” Cassian repeats again, expression still calm. Focused. Purposeful. Bodhi wishes he felt half those things. He shifts so he’s as close as the grate between the two cells will allow. “Galen Erso - the scientist - he sent you, yes?”

Bodhi bites his lip, eyes not moving from the man’s, and nods again.

“I need to know where he is,” Cassian says slowly, “Can you tell me where to find him?”

“I--” Bodhi swallows. Thinks hard. Digs deep into the mess still piecing itself back together. Images pull themselves into focus. “It’s...it’s always raining there,” he manages, knowing it’s not enough. But he remembers-- he _remembers_. 

It just won’t stop. It’s always raining; he hates it. He remembers it as a miserable place. But, he’s not sure how much of that is the memory of the place itself, and how much is the memory of Imperial service slowly driving him to despair. He can’t remember clearly, but both sound right. _Why does his head hurt so much_? It’s--

“Eadu.”

The name comes suddenly, out of his mouth before it entirely registers as a thought. “Eadu!” he repeats, “Galen’s on Eadu; he gave me the-- the message on Eadu.”

The grin that stretches across Cassian’s face is disarming and Bodhi, in his fragile state, feels consumed by it. He starts to say something, but then the ground shakes with a great, shuddering _boom_ and he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed...at 2:30am...so yeah


End file.
